


Death Follows The Family

by AlisonSky



Series: Lone Hawk of Gotham [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Batfamily Drama (DCU), Batfamily is a Mess (DCU), Bisexual Clint Barton, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Canonical Character Death, Circus Bros - Freeform, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton is in Batfamily, Dick Grayson and Clint Barton are siblings, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, During Pennyworth RIP, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Heavy Angst, Intro teenage Kate Bishop, Tim Drake is Not Okay, and a slap upside the head, dcu crossover, pre-Clint Barton/Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlisonSky/pseuds/AlisonSky
Summary: A partial rewrite of Pennyworth R.I.P. to fit this alternative universe with Clint as a member of the Batfamily. Feelings and secrets have a way of being revealed while dealing with grief.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth, Clint Barton & Alfred Pennyworth
Series: Lone Hawk of Gotham [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664209
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

It had been almost two months since Paris. Clint, healed and back in his element, stood behind a young woman teaching her archery while her father worked on the weight machine—well, he was talking into his earbud while working out.

“Is he always like this, Kate?” Clint asked, giving her father a look before returning his attention to his pupil.

The brown-haired girl—turning thirteen next week as she had proudly announced on her weekly arrival—nodded, her focus on the target. “He thinks we’re bonding,” she stated. Clint watched her shoulders drop as she steadied her breathing, then let the arrow fly. It hit the edge of the bulls-eye circle.

“Oh my God! I hit the bulls-eye!” She turned, bouncing in place and looking up at Clint. “I did it!”

“Yeah, you did.” Clint gave the girl a high-five, then motioned over to her father. “Go tell him.”

Kate looked at her dad, then shook her head. “He won’t care.”

“Well, then give me your phone so I can take a picture for you to send to your friends.”

Squealing in delight, Kate handed her glittery phone over and Clint smiled as the girl struck a pose next to her arrow. He took a few just to keep from getting one of her blinking. “You have fun adding your filters.”

“Thanks, Clint.” She came back and looked at the pictures, the grin so big Clint wondered if it was hurting her face. “Can I try for a second one?”

Before Clint could answer, her father stood up. “Sorry, Katie, there’s a situation I have to deal with. Grab your things.”

Kate deflated, but obediently slid her phone into her backpack and picked it up. “Yes, daddy.”

Clint walked them to the door where a limo sat parked. A butler opened the back door, waiting patiently. Kate gave Clint another high-five as she ran out. “See you next week, Katie Kate!”

Mr. Bishop met Clint at the door and handed him an envelope with cash. “She’s improving. Normally she doesn’t pay attention to any of her tutors.”

“She’s a good kid with a lot of potential. With hard work, she might even become better than me.” Clint took the envelope but didn’t count it. He had researched the kind of man Mr. Bishop was, and the only reason Clint let him into the gym was that Kate needed someone to focus on her. He wanted to tell her father how he should show more interest in her, but the first time he did that ended with a shoulder squeeze that almost dislocated it.

“Same time next week?”

“I’ll be here.”

Clint watched them drive off, then headed back to clean up the archery station. He was almost finished when the bell over the front door rang. “Welcome to Grayson Cross-Fit,” he said, turning his head just enough to see who had entered.

“It’s still so weird to see you two doing this.” Jason Todd stood by the door, looking around at the gym. It wasn’t his first time coming to the gym—in fact, Clint had Jason come spar with him a few times during his recovery. Ric did as well, but Clint knew most of Ric’s moves. While their sparring became predictable, Jason brought a different set of fighting techniques that kept Clint on his toes.

Plus, they sparred with nerf guns as a weapon. When everything was over, they laid on the mats with dozens of nerf bullets around them, unable to breathe because they were laughing too hard. Each time, Clint wanted to tell Jason about his secret—how they were brothers by adoption—but he just couldn’t. He worried that Jason would get pissed at not being told sooner, and their relationship would change as a result.

Clint couldn’t lose Jason. While yes, Ric was Clint’s best friend and they got along as they always did, Ric wasn’t Dick. Clint missed him more as each week passed and it seemed like the amnesia would be permanent. Everything that Clint had with Jason was original—both past and present times—and there was a shared understanding between them since they had similar abusive upbringings.

“You’re just jealous,” Clint quipped, grabbing the cleaning spray and heading for the weight machine.

“Of this place? As if.” Jason hesitated at the doorway, not coming further into the room. “Where’s Grayson?”

“He’s working the dinner line with Bea at the shelter.” Ric spent a lot of time with Bea these days, leaving Clint alone with the business and the warehouse. Now that he was recovered from his injuries, Clint debated on grabbing a Nightwing suit of his own and starting to patrol the Haven with the others.

Jason gave a curt nod, then turned the lock on the front door and flipped the sign to closed. “We need to talk.”

Alarms went off in his head, joined in a moment later from his watch buzzing to tell him someone entered the back door in the living quarters. “Who else is here?” Clint asked as he made for the door separating the business from his home.

Bruce Wayne stood in the living room in jeans and a sweatshirt. He looked beaten to hell, and his face was dark, exhaustion coloring every inch of him. “Clint.”

Jason was right behind Clint, and he suddenly felt trapped. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice a soft growl while evaluating the situation.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Bruce said. “You might want to sit down.”

“No, I’m fine right here.” Clint looked at Jason, who dropped his eyes to the floor and looked away. The warning bells in his head grew louder, and he turned back to face Bruce full on. “What do you need to tell me?”

Bruce took a deep breath, and Clint saw the edges of his father’s eyes water. “It’s Alfred.”

The remorse in Bruce’s voice cut through all the tension in Clint. He felt his body go limp, shoulders dropping out of his defensive position, his legs struggling to keep him upright. “Alfred?”

“He’s dead, Clint.”

Bruce continued to speak, but it was like Clint’s hearing aids turned themselves off. He saw Bruce’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. Instead, his voice echoed through his head— _he’s dead. Alfred’s dead—_ until Clint’s legs finally gave way and he fell to his knees.

His vision clouded, the world wavering like it was underwater. Where had the water come from? As tears started to stream down his face, Clint realized they were his own.

There was a hand on his back and a warm presence at his side. Clint turned to see Jason there, his own eyes wet with tears and a grim determination on his face. Jason knew more. Jason knew who had killed Alfred—because someone had to do it. Alfred would have told them if he was sick.

“Who do I have to kill?” Clint finally asked, his eyes locking on Bruce’s. Screw the bat rule—this was Alfred! Whoever did this needed to pay.

Bruce knelt in front of Clint and placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “It’s already been taken care of,” Bruce stated, and Clint knew what that meant. The person was alive but had felt Batman’s wrath before being locked up in a dark corner of Arkham.

Clint felt Jason’s hand bunch up the shirt on his back, and he knew Jason was more on Clint’s side of justice in this instance. It wasn’t a big surprise. Clint leaned into his brother more, and without hesitation, Jason shifted to hold Clint.

“So now what?” The numbness started to fill him, the conditioned dissonance from the situation that allowed him to focus during missions.

“There’s going to be a memorial for him in a few days. I’d like you to come, and to bring Ric.”

“He doesn’t remember Alfred,” Clint stated. “He won’t know what to do with himself there.”

Bruce nodded. “I know, but… when he gets his memories back, he’ll hate himself if he wasn’t there.”

“Goldie and Alfred had a bond none of the rest of us had,” Jason added. “It might not be a big comfort, but at least he can tell himself he was there.”

Clint thought about it then nodded. “You’re right. I’ll bring him.”

“I’ll text you all the date and time when things are finalized.” Bruce stood back up. “But if you need anything…”

“We’ll be fine,” Clint said. “I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“Memorial,” Bruce corrected. “We already buried him.”

Clint just closed his eyes. “Right, of course.”

He heard Bruce’s boots walk away, and only when the door opened and closed did Clint let his hands fist. “Alfred wasn’t supposed to die. Not like this.”

“Tell me about it.” Jason shifted to stand, pulling Clint up with him. “Come on, let’s go find someone to hit.”

Clint looked over at his Hawkeye gear and nodded. “I’ll change. You pull down the gate outside.” He didn’t wait for an answer as he picked up his body armor and walked to his bedroom area.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Jason take out their anger about Alfred's death on a bunch of criminals... and each other.

Jason stood with one foot on the rooftop ledge, looking down at the three men with AK-47’s patrolling a specific container trailer at the harbor. He had his face mask on, covering his nose and mouth below the domino mask. The red hood of his sweatshirt covered the rest of his head.

“Tell me again why you’re not wearing the helmet anymore?” Clint spoke in his ear. Jason lifted his eyes to see a flash of purple and black running across a wall of stacked containers.

“After Bizarro and Artemis disappeared… I just kept thinking about them anytime I looked at it. Then I thought about Starfire and Roy… I needed the change.”

“Well, it certainly ups the fear factor.” Clint jumped across a break in the wall. Jason knew he was looking for the best vantage point for his aim, but part of him wished Clint was at his side. He felt alone without someone right next to him, questioning his plans or cracking jokes.

The lone wolf of the family missed having a team. Jason recognized the irony and ignored it.

“I mean, you’ve got the evil murder doctor vibe now,” Clint continued to joke.

Jason laughed softly so the thugs wouldn’t hear him. “Says the man wearing a purple ski mask with an H on his forehead.”

“There were other places I wanted to put the H, but Coulson wouldn’t allow it.”

They were interrupted by the sound of a diesel engine. “The tractor-trailer has arrived,” Clint spoke. Jason couldn’t see his friend anymore and assumed that Clint had found his perch.

“Copy that.” Jason pulled one of his guns out, checking the clip. He had live ammo in it. Since he wasn’t in Gotham, he didn’t have to follow the Bat rules. “Should I go live or rubber tonight?” he asked Clint. It was the first time he had gone into a fight with the secret spy agent, so he wasn’t sure what Clint’s ethics were.

“They’re packing guns, Jason. If they threaten your life, I’m taking them down.”

Jason smirked. “Live ammo it is.”

The tractor-trailer pulled up beside the waiting container. Behind it was a black limousine. More thugs exited the car, and the driver stepped out to open one of the limo’s back doors. A white man came out, straightening his suit jacket. Jason didn’t recognize him, but he also wasn’t familiar with the players in Blüdhaven like he was with in Gotham.

“I don’t recognize this guy,” Jason relayed to Clint.

“Like I know who it is. I’m just following your lead, Red.”

“Hood,” Jason corrected. “There’s too many Reds in the field.”

“Don’t you guys know any other color?” Clint asked.

“I know, right? I’ve asked about that before, but the others ignored me.”

“Think any of the kids are on the comms?”

Jason sighed, but someone checking the Batcave’s computer files would take a lot of the guesswork out of this situation. “I’ll check.” Jason reached up onto his mask and turned on the communicator set to an encrypted frequency all the Bats used. “Hood here, needing a facial rec. Anyone online?”

They waited, watching as the businessman ordered the thugs about. One was starting the long climb up into the crane.

“Can’t you do your own research, Todd?” Damian’s voice came as a reply, and Jason groaned. Of all his siblings…

“I’m standing on the roof of a warehouse in the shipyard. There isn’t a batcomputer readily available,” Jason replied.

“—TT— obviously you need better gear.”

“Robin, will you just run the scan for him,” Clint intervened as a voice of reason. “We’re covering the Haven tonight and got a new player on the field.”

“Barton.” There was no inflection on Damian’s voice as he said the agent’s name. Jason knew that meant Damian hadn’t formed an opinion yet on Clint, which was probably a good thing. “You’re supposed to be watching over Grayson.”

“He’s working right now, and his cab stinks.”

“Still if you needed a partner on patrol…”

Jason rolled his eyes. “The scan, brat.”

Damian growled, but a moment later Jason’s view through his domino mask went from normal to a red color with yellow crosshairs. Jason focused his sights on the businessman and waited.

“Alawishus Forman.”

Clint snorted. “Wow, his parents hated him from the start.”

Jason heard a soft snicker from Damian over the line—a rare sound that only Dick was able to elicit from the demon spawn. “He’s got a history of drug and weapons dealing in Sterling City,” Damian continued. “No sign of him doing business on this coast.”

“Until now.” Jason swept his vision over the thugs next, and Damian relayed the information from the computer on each one. As they identified the last one on the ground, the crane’s motor roared to life.

“Whatever we’re doing, Hood, we need to act. As it is, I’m on shaky ground.”

Jason lifted his head, looking at the crane. “What do you mean… please tell me you’re not on the crane.”

“Oh, I’m totally on the crane.” The speck of purple against the indigo sky wavered as the crane rotated its arm. “I’ve got a shot at the ground crew. Just need your orders.”

“Right.” Jason focused back on the Forman and his crew. He counted, then realized that four men were missing. “We’ve got lost lambs.”

“Yeah, I—get down!” Clint’s order sent Jason flat on his stomach immediately. A second later, the _thwip_ of an arrow hitting flesh came from behind him. Jason turned his head to see a man go down, an arrow in his throat. A second arrow struck another man right in his eye socket.

A spotlight lit up the crates Jason was on, and more thugs turned their guns on him. He grinned beneath the mask as he clicked off the guns’ safeties. “Showtime.”

Clint watched Jason interrogate Forman while hiding in the shadows. Coulson wouldn’t approve of this mission, but the urge to hurt something had been too great. When he felt this way, he would either stand at a target for hours, shooting until his fingers ran red with blood, or he was on a case and took it out on his target.

He wasn’t shocked that Jason felt the same anger at losing Alfred; the same helplessness in being able to do something about it. When Jason asked for Clint to be his backup on patrol in Blüdhaven, Clint had his gear in hand before Jason finished the sentence.

Now, Clint still felt that ball of energy in him screaming to be released. Bobbi used to help him in these moments, dragging him to bed and “distracting” him until he was depleted. But his ex-wife was off on another mission and, well, he hadn’t even thought about pursuing a relationship while he was in the Haven. It’d be just a fling at best and leave behind broken hearts at worst.

Flings never went well for him. Guy or gal, it always ended with someone in tears. Sometimes, it was him. He craved affection more than actual sex, and right now he just wanted to curl up in someone’s arms until the pain disappeared… like how Jason had held him earlier.

Clint shook his head. No. He wasn’t going to let his mind go there. He couldn’t.

“I got what I needed from him,” Jason spoke as he moved to Clint’s side. “I can get the information leaked out to those Nightwings and let them feel useful.”

“How generous.” Clint took a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face. “I think I should head back. Ric’ll be home soon and I have to figure out how to break this to him.”

“Like he’d even remember Alfred,” Jason huffed.

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Clint pushed away from the crates he leaned against and started walking back to where their motorcycles were.

Jason jogged to catch up. “What I meant was that he won’t understand why he should care.”

“And that isn’t his fault. But you really think that keeping him in the dark is the best choice?”

“Of course. Why put our family drama on him?”

Clint shifted, pushing Jason up against the crates. “He’s still part of your family, whether he believes it or not. When he gets his memories back, do you think he’ll appreciate not having been given a chance to say goodbye? I know him—he’s already going to wish he had been there and will feel guilty. But to keep him from a family memorial… it’ll make him refuse to come back even when he remembers.”

“I’ve been kept from a lot of the family events. You get over it.” Jason glared down at Clint but didn’t try to free himself from the tight grip.

“Oh really? How did that whole homecoming go again?”

Jason pushed Clint back. “I was suffering from pit madness!”

“And he’s suffering from amnesia! Tell me you don’t feel an ounce of guilt from what you’ve done that made you believe you’re the black sheep in the Batfamily?”

Silence hung in the air between them. Jason’s hands curled into fists, and Clint shifted his weight to be able to defend himself. He could feel the adrenaline starting to pump and decided that he wanted to fight. He needed to fight. “Or does admitting guilt also means admitting everything you did wasn’t pit madness but your own idiocy?”

The snarl preceded the first punch, letting Clint duck under it easily. He wasn’t expecting Jason to charge and grab him around the waist. He flew back, landing a few inches from the motorcycles. Jason was on top of him, and there was a sickish green glow in his eyes as he brought his fist down at Clint’s temple.

Clint moved, bringing his legs up to wrap around Jason’s shoulders and neck before pulling him down. He sprang away, getting back to his feet as Jason rose to one knee. “What about you, huh?” Jason asked, pushing his hood down. “We barely know anything about you, but you act like you spent years here. I think you’re just putting your own guilt at being away on me. I at least came back. I bet you abandoned Alfred just like you abandoned Dick.”

It was Clint’s turn to charge. The guttural roar tore from his throat as he slammed his shoulder into Jason’s chest. Jason barely moved. For all Clint’s momentum, there was at least a fifty-pound difference between the two men, which is what Clint counted on. He performed one of Bobbi’s moves: grabbing onto Jason’s arm and swinging his body around Jason’s back. His legs wrapped around Jason’s neck, and with the momentum of his upper body pushing off to swing, he pulled down with his legs.

Unbalanced, Jason fell onto his back. Clint’s heel kicked the red mask away from the younger man’s face. Clint straddled Jason, his knees on Jason’s arms, hands on either side of Jason’s head. He panted, staring down at the seething vigilante.

“Get off of me you—”

Jason’s words were cut off as Clint leaned in and kissed him hard on the lips.

Clint’s fingers dug into the ground as all his frustration funneled into the kiss. He closed his eyes, his anger shifting to his desperate desire for affection. Part of it was instinct—Bobbi and his sparring matches usually ended up in this position, the one on top swapping often—and part of it…

He had tried to deny the connection he felt with Jason. Their backstories, the understanding of trauma, how in sync they fought, and even their lame jokes had slowly brought Clint closer to the Red Hood than the bond between Clint and Ric Grayson.

There was one problem: Jason was his adoptive brother. He might not know it, but Clint did and because of that, he needed to be responsible for his actions at this moment.

Clint pushed himself away, hopping up on his feet and backing away and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Sorry. I shouldn’t… I need to go.”

“Clint, what…?” Jason remained on his back, confusion painting his face.

At least he wasn’t angry anymore. Mission accomplished?

“I’ll see you at the memorial,” Clint said in a rush as he grabbed his equipment and slung it on his back. He was on his motorcycle and driving away before Jason could even get to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. That happened.
> 
> You've probably been wondering if these two were going this way. There've been subtle hints about it all through BoaF. However, this was NOT supposed to happen so soon. I had plans! Beautiful, angsty plans but no, THESE TWO ASSHOLES had to get into a fist-fight.
> 
> Any writer who believes that they control their characters is just lying to themselves. 
> 
> That said, I'd love to hear your opinion about this development-- good, bad, and wtf is happening all accepted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the Bar Scene in Pennyworth RIP.

Ric wanted to cry. He knew he should cry—the history of Richard Grayson in the set of lost memories was full of moments with Alfred Pennyworth. Someone had to take care of him and Bruce while they were off being Batman and Robin, and the butler was that person.

When Clint told him Alfred had died, he didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t a numbness, just… a lack of emotions connected to the person. _Dick_ would be in mourning. _Dick_ would know how much this should hurt. _Dick_ would be up there with Bruce, Barbara, and the two boys who must be his brothers Damian and Timothy.

But he wasn’t _Dick_ , and the fact he remained at Clint’s side blending into the crowd of spectators just proved it.

The only reason he was here is that Clint asked him to come. He understood the reasoning— _if you get your memories back, you’ll want to know you were here_ —and in a way, he hoped it would come true, as it would give him back those connections to his life.

Instead, he just stood awkwardly in a borrowed suit, staring up at the statue of Alfred and a young Bruce, trying to see something that would trigger a single memory beyond the one time Alfred visited him in the bar and Ric chased him away.

Clint was listening to the speeches, his eyes hidden behind a purple S.H.I.E.L.D. issued visor. He was in his uniform: a black unitard with a padded top half—bulletproof—that had dark-purple accents on his hips and shoulders and combat boots. The S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem was on one sleeve, and a white stencil of the American flag on the other. He left the “utility belt” at home, opting to wear his S.H.I.E.L.D. leather jacket and visor instead.

Ric knew Clint was armed. One boot had a gun, the other a hunting knife. He was pretty sure the inner pockets of the jacket had other projectiles as well. He just hoped Clint wouldn’t need to use them.

But they were in Gotham City. Chaos happened on the hour in this town.

It was a fitting memorial, Ric felt. From what he knew of Alfred, the man had taken care of this Batfamily. He remembered some of their stories that he had been told after waking up from the coma, and it made sense for a children’s hospital to be named for him.

Alfred had probably patched them all up multiple times. Clint said that he would have gone insane after his bad fall if Alfred wasn’t there to care for him during his own recovery. Seeing how Clint hurt anytime he brought Alfred up these days, Ric knew how deep of a bond had been created at that moment.

Ric really wished he could feel it.

When the service was over, Clint whispered into Ric’s ear about going to a bar for a more private conversation. He was tempted to just get on his motorcycle and head back to Blüdhaven, but something in his gut told him he needed to go. It was more than a “you’ll regret it when you get your memories back” feeling, but instead a need be a supportive presence for the rest of them.

Maybe it would go better than it did when he first woke up and didn’t recognize them. God, he hoped so.

Clint needed a drink, so he was glad this little family reunion was happening at a bar. There was tension in the air before they even entered the establishment. He had avoided Jason like the plague after that night on the docks, making this the first time they’ve seen one another since. Clint still didn’t know what to say, so he just stayed quiet and at least six feet away from him.

Barbara gave him a sad smile, but seconds after they walked in, she was already focusing on Tim so he didn’t approach. Tim, the only one he had yet to meet in person as an adult, gave off the aura of the peacemaker, but Clint wasn’t sure he’d be successful in this atmosphere.

Damian looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Clint didn’t know why. He caught the quick looks the youngest took of Ric, and Clint realized that Ric was the one he wanted to comfort him… which was probably what Dick would be doing.

Fuck, this was going to get worse, and quickly.

Ric jumped over the top of the bar to mix drinks. He didn’t even ask Clint before he started the coffee brewer. Yeah, they didn’t live together at all. Clint sat on the bartop, feeling unsure of where he actually stood in this grouping. He wasn’t as disconnected as Ric was—visually acknowledged by having the entire bar between him and his family.

Clint should be with the others, but none of them knew his secret. Only Bruce. So he couldn’t show too much emotion to make them suspicious.

God, he really needed to tell them. His excuses as to why he didn’t were running out.

“The butler?! Really? Show from fucking RESPECT!” Jason shouted. Clint shook himself out of his thoughts and saw Jason leaning in, almost ready to punch Ric.

Moving quickly, Clint slid off the bar and between the two of them. He pushed Jason back with one arm. “Lay off him, Jason,” Clint warned.

“Fuck you, Clint,” Jason growled. “You trying to police us now? Couldn’t find an actual suit, or did S.H.I.E.L.D. send you to recon on us? Not like either of you are part of this _family_ anymore.”

“Not like any of you were in the city when things really went down with Bane!” Barbara shouted over them.

Jason turned his glare onto Barbara. “Don’t give me that crap. I was steering clear to _keep_ Bane from killing Alfred. For once I actually listened to Bruce, unlike someone else.” He motioned at Damian, who had his fists clenched and stared at the floor.

Clint reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yup, this was going about as well as Clint expected it to go.

“Enough.”

Clint jerked his head up to see Bruce in the doorway. The man radiated grief, but his face stayed impassive, as always. There was anger in his voice, but his shoulders sagged just barely, revealing more disappointment than rage.

This was not the man he saw in Paris. It wasn’t even the one who delivered the news of Alfred’s death. Bruce was defeated at this moment, and Clint leaned back against the bar, head tilted, curious as to why.

Ric handed Clint a cup of coffee before starting to pour a few cups of ginger ale. Clint chuckled, seeing that Ric silently agreed with him that alcohol was not something to introduce into this powder keg.

Damian broke his silence and proceeded to share a memory of his time with Alfred. Clint smiled, remembering his own arguments with Bruce once he became mobile and felt caged in at the manor. He could see a tiny Damian fuming and Alfred just being stoic yet empathetic.

What he would pay, though, to see Alfred in a batsuit.

Then Damian started talking about witnessing Alfred’s murder, and Clint felt the weight that Damian carried with him. He was a kid still. What fucked up world had Gotham become that let a child witness such a thing, and believe it was his own doing?

Actually, Clint knew that feeling. Fuck.

When Damian left and Bruce made no motion to follow after him, Clint growled and pushed off the bar heading for the door. “Clint, don’t—” Bruce started, but Clint ignored him and kept going, pushing his way outside.

The tiny ball of agony was already a block away, so Clint ran after him. “Damian, wait!”

Damian froze but didn’t turn around. “I don’t wish to speak to you, Barton.”

Clint walked around Damian and knelt to his level. “Then don’t, just listen.” He took a deep breath. “I know the kind of pain you’re going through. But what happened is not your fault.”

“—tt—” Damian tutted, still staring at the ground. “Of course it is. If I hadn’t—”

“Damian, it is _not_ your fault.” Clint grabbed both of Damian’s shoulders. “You didn’t make Bane kill Alfred. You didn’t hold Bruce back from getting there sooner. You didn’t let Bane escape from Arkham. You tried to help, and sometimes it doesn’t work, and someone gets hurt. But you didn’t create the situation, and I’m sure as hell certain you didn’t want Alfred to die.”

“Of course not!” Damian scoffed, lifting his head. Clint could see the indignation through his tears. “But Todd’s right. I shouldn’t have gone after him.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But knowing Alfred, he wouldn’t blame you, so neither should you.”

Damian opened his mouth to refute the logic, but he couldn’t. Clint watched Damian’s lips tremble, searching for something to say to hold onto the guilt. “He… he said I was acting like a child.”

Clint inched closer, one of his hands sliding back to gently stroke the boy’s hair. “Damian, for all you’ve gone through and done… you are still a child. And there’s nothing wrong with that. What you did was an act of love for a city, for a man who meant the world to you. I know I’m not Dick, but you know he’d be saying the same thing I’m saying now.”

Damian nodded, reaching up to wipe at his tears. “Yes, he would. He was insufferable like that.”

“Then just listen to his voice in your head, okay? I know it’s going to be hard, but they wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt. You can’t change it, so accept it, grieve, and then come back to the fight to make sure no one else goes through something like that again.”

Damian was silent a moment, then after a second of checking his surroundings, he stepped forward into Clint’s arms, hugging him tightly. Clint smiled, returning the embrace for a handful of seconds before Damian pushed himself away. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “This is my private, encrypted cellphone line. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there. If I’m on a mission, I might not be able to answer right away, but I will reply when I can. Okay?”

“I doubt I will need it,” Damian stated, but he slid the card into his pocket anyway.

“I’m sure you won’t.” Clint stood back up and gave Damian’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I think I see the bar door opening. Get going.”

Damian nodded, then turned down the next alley. Clint heard the sound of a grappling gun and chuckled, then put his hands in his pockets and walked back to the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been wanting to get a real scene between Damian and Clint since I started this, and not something with Damian in his Robin persona. Seeing all the similarities Clint and Dick have, I felt Damian's absence of having Dick would lend to him giving Clint a chance to fill that need. Of course, Clint could never replace the bond between Dick & Damian, but I hated how alone Damian was in this one-shot comic, and that needed to be fixed, dammit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is next to exit the bar. Clint gets to see the last Robin he knew all grown up.

Tim exited the bar as Clint returned. He saw the young man look both ways—probably searching for Damian—before noticing Clint. “You find Damian?” he asked.

Clint nodded. “Yeah. He needed some space, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“I hope so.” Tim slid his hands into his jacket pockets. “It wasn’t all his fault.”

“Tim.” Clint put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “We’ve all made mistakes in judgment. We’ve all had moments where we’ve let someone get hurt because we rushed in headfirst without thinking.”

“I know… and Jason knows it too. It’s just… it’s Alfred, you know?” Tim stared down at the sidewalk. “He’s the glue that holds us all together.”

Clint squeezed Tim’s shoulder briefly. “And right now, he’s counting on the rest of you to realize you have to do it on your own now.”

“ _Bruce_ needs to do it,” Tim stated, shaking his head. “But he won’t. He doesn’t know how to. I don’t think he ever did.”

“Bruce grew up losing his parents as a kid, then raised by Alfred. He’s never had to be a real adult with responsibilities.”

“Exactly!”

“But we shouldn’t get angry at him for not knowing how to do this,” Clint said. “We need to help him figure it out.”

“He won’t ask for help.” Tim motioned back at the bar. “He pretty much just said so.”

Clint looked at the bar and sighed. He needed to get back in there and figure out what was going on. Jason and Barbara were both powder kegs set to explode, and neither Ric nor Bruce was in a state to deescalate them. “How bad is it in there?”

“Bad.” Tim turned to look back as well. “He’s just sitting there, listening, but only responding when directly spoken to. After you left, Barbara laid into him for not going after Damian. I started my toast mainly to get her to stop shouting and get out of there. It’s…”

Clint watched his second youngest brother. Unlike Damian, who carried the guilt, Tim looked as if he carried some personal form of responsibility. Clint was barely around for Tim’s tenure as Robin but remembered that the kid saw how bad Bruce was handling Jason’s death. He signed up to be Robin to help Batman return to his former glory. Clint wondered just how often Tim returned to being that crutch for Bruce, and if he came to define his role as Robin to serve as Bruce’s conscience, in a way.

“Tim, you’re not responsible for trying to fix this,” Clint said.

Tim looked over at Clint, confused. “I know that. I told Bruce that this time, he has to ask me to help.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Clint wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulder. “Even if he asked, it’s still not your responsibility to take care of Bruce—all of you need to do that. Like I said before, Alfred knew that you all were stronger together. I think one of the reasons Jason failed at being Robin was because of Dick and Bruce’s feud at the time.”

“It was,” Tim admitted. “That’s why I wanted Dick to come back to being Robin first. He needed to be back in the picture to make it better.”

“I think I remember that.” It was a long time ago, but Clint remembered the short time after Jason’s death where he and Dick had a truce between them. They both dropped their respected lives and Clint accompanied Dick back to Haly’s circus. Dick processed his grief on the trapeze while Clint made sure his brother didn’t fall.

Then this punk kid arrived knowing all of Dick’s secrets, begging him to go back. Clint admired the kid’s gumption then. Now, Clint saw the anxiety and depression, the lanky features of a kid never growing into his body, and he wondered what had happened to Tim that changed him so.

If he told Tim about their connection, about how they were adopted brothers, what would that do for him? Would he hate Clint for never taking any steps to be a Robin to save him from what his life had become? Could Tim handle that knowledge of having a brother who never cared for the legacy of the Bat, when it is obvious that the Batfamily is his sole dedication?

No, it wasn’t the right time. Clint needed to learn more about his younger brothers before he told them. Maybe then. But not today.

“I don’t hear anyone yelling,” Tim said.

“Do you think Barbara killed them all?”

Tim snorted, then looked over at Clint with a smile. “I thought you’d be betting on Jason.”

“Uh, no. I know Barbara. She’s scarier than all four of you combined.”

Tim thought a moment, then nodded. “You’re not wrong.”

The bar door opened and Jason stepped out. He turned to look at Clint and Tim, and while the sunglasses hid Jason’s eyes, Clint saw Jason’s jaw set. “I think Jason and I need to talk,” Clint said, slipping his arm off Tim’s shoulder.

“Good luck with that.” Tim took a step back. “Maybe we can talk more later?”

Clint nodded. “You already hacked my hearing aid. Call out anytime.” Tim smirked at that, then waved to Jason before heading off.

Jason and Clint stared at each other, maybe twenty feet between them. Dread pooled in Clint’s gut, unsure where _their_ future was going…

He just really hoped Jason wasn’t packing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Clint talk, and it will determine how they will move forward.

The stalemate between them broke as Jason stomped across the distance between them and towered over Clint. With his sunglasses on, Clint couldn’t see the emotion in Jason’s eyes, so he kept his expression neutral. “Jason?”

“You and I have something to discuss,” Jason stated.

“I know,” Clint said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I was wrong to do… you know. It’s just a reflex, something Bobbi and I did to end physical arguments.”

“A reflex.” Jason crossed his arms. Clint wasn’t sure, but Jason didn’t sound angry. Instead, he sounded confused. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Yeah. It’s also a good way to stop panic attacks. It’s a drastic shift in the environment that resets your brain. Bobbi read it somewhere, I can’t remember. But either way, it’s a distraction technique. I’ve used it plenty of times on missions and it’s never failed me, so I guess—”

“Clint,” Jason interrupted. “You’re rambling.”

“Oh.” Clint took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “So, I’m sorry.”

Jason nodded absently, then took off his sunglasses. His green eyes were brighter than normal, the whites bloodshot from either anger or holding back tears. He opened his mouth a moment to say something, then licked his lips instead.

“I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” Clint added.

“You running away made it awkward,” Jason said.

“I know. Sorry.”

Jason closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. “Clint, was it really just reflex?”

“Huh?”

“It didn’t just feel like a distraction. There was something behind it.”

Clint felt his gut clench. This was turning in the wrong direction. “No, there wasn’t.” _Yeah, that’ll convince him. Good job, Clint._

“I’ve been kissed enough times to know when it’s being done as a distraction or for someone else’s pleasure than a real feeling being shared.” Jason locked his green eyes on Clint’s blue ones. “Clint, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not…” Clint gulped because he knew his next words had the ability to change his relationship with Jason forever. Right now, they were friends to Jason, and brothers to Clint. One word and it opened the possibility for more. It was wrong on so many levels, but six months in the Haven was starting to gnaw at him.

He had never felt so alone. Even with Ric at his side most days, and Jason on others, Clint yearned for being stationed on the same helicarrier with Bobbi so he could find her when he just needed to be reminded that he was more than a weapon. They still loved each other, Clint was certain he always would love her, but the marriage wasn’t in their cards like they had hoped.

And Clint isn’t thinking about marriage with Jason either. God, no. That would create too much havoc in both their lives. He would be going back to S.H.I.E.L.D. soon, and Jason was a lone wolf. There were way more reasons to stop this now than not.

But Clint couldn’t deny that there was something between him and Jason. He felt it then, and even now as he started up at Jason, he wanted nothing more than to just have the man hug him. Someone to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

“We can’t,” was all Clint could say before reaching up to rub at his eyes with his sleeve. He wasn’t crying, shut up.

And then, without even asking for it, he was in Jason’s arms. He felt Jason engulf him against his chest, his arms tight enough to keep him there, but not trapping him. Clint managed to hold back the whimper threatening to escape, remembering how just a few days ago how Jason had done something similar when relaying the news about Alfred’s death. Without thinking, Clint stepped closer and slipped his arms around Jason, offering a weak hug in return.

This close, Clint could smell the mixture of cologne, gun oil, and leather that made up Jason’s scent. With his hearing aid pressed against Jason’s chest, he could hear the strong heartbeat guiding him to breathe in and out in a steady rhythm. A part of Clint wanted to just stay like this forever.

“Clint,” Jason whispered, “you surprised me on the dock. I’m not a very affectionate person openly, but I know you are. And I know that kiss was something more. If you had stayed, I would have told you that it wasn’t entirely unwanted.”

“Huh?” Clint pulled back only enough to see Jason’s face.

“I’d say I don’t do relationships, but that’d be lying. I’ve tried, but this life doesn’t let that last for long.” Jason shook his head, eyes closed. “Ever since I came back, I’ve struggled to figure out what I wanted. I’ve had lovers, but…”

“Jason, I don’t want to have sex with you,” Clint stated, saving his brother from listing out his entire sexual life. “It’s not that. I mean, yes, I’m bisexual, but that isn’t what I want from someone. I just…” Clint sighed, “I want moments like this.”

“Hugs.” Jason chuckled, bringing a smile to Clint’s face. “I technically only hug Batman.”

“And yet…”

“You were about to break down crying on the sidewalk.”

“I was not!” Clint pushed himself out of Jason’s embrace, still smiling as he rubbed his eyes again. Jason laughed, and Clint joined in after a moment.

“Listen, I can’t promise anything,” Jason stated. “But I can’t say I don’t enjoy spending time with you. You get me. None of the others do, even though they try.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means that I’m open to seeing what happens here. I just need you to be honest about it. I don’t appreciate being lied to or running away from an argument.”

That knot returned to Clint’s gut. He had to. “I need to tell you something, then.”

“What’s that?”

Before Clint could speak, the bar door slammed open and Barbara stormed out. She saw the two of them and sighed. “You might want to go save Ric,” she stated, sadness dripping off the name before she turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

Clint moved to go after her, but Jason grabbed his shoulder. “She needs to be alone right now. Trust me.”

“Okay. I guess I should go rescue Ric before he and Bruce find a way to start a fight,” Clint said.

“But you were about to tell me something,” Jason pointed out.

“I know. And I will. Do you want to grab coffee tomorrow and we can talk more then?”

Jason nodded. “I’ll try, but there’s a case I’m working on. I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” Clint put his hand on where Jason was still clutching his shoulder and squeezed it. “If you need backup, call.”

“We’ll see.” Jason squeezed his shoulder in return, then put on his sunglasses and left in the same direction Tim had gone.

Clint watched him leave. One weight was off his chest and it hadn’t gone horribly. But the other weight—the truth of who he really was—only weighed more on him. He needed to get this one dealt with before it came out in a way that would explode in all their faces.

He turned and reentered the bar, seeing Ric sitting at the table with Bruce. In a way, this was good. Ric hadn’t wanted to come because he didn’t remember them. Bruce was a trigger ever since he tried to force Ric to be Dick in such a way that it drove them apart.

Maybe it would lead Ric to interact with the family more. If that happened, it would be something the team could rally together with. Even if he’s never Dick Grayson again, Ric Grayson was a pretty good guy to have around.

Clint stood in the alcove between the door and the bar, listening from the shadows. When Ric stood up, Clint stepped into the bar to make his presence known—even if he was sure they both already knew. “Ready to go?” he asked Ric.

“Actually, Clint, could you stay a moment?” Bruce asked.

Ric and Clint exchanged looks, and Ric nodded. “I’ll go find us some real coffee before we ride back,” Ric said before he left, leaving Clint alone with Bruce.

Yeah, this was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this entire story I plan to be from Clint's POV. Would anyone be interested in Jason's side (even though he pretty much states it here). Let me know in the comments.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Bruce talk; Clint gets to give his memory of Alfred that he would never forget.

Clint debated on what to say at this moment. Was it his turn to give a speech in Alfred’s name with no-one but Bruce to listen? Did Bruce expect Clint to report on Damian’s status as a good little soldier? Well, he could just fuck off if that’s what he wanted.

“Did you tell them yet?” Bruce asked, looking at a photograph in his hand. “Your brothers?”

Oh, it was going to be about this. Fun. Clint pulled out a chair and turned it around, resting his arms on the back. “Didn’t really feel like the right time, you know.”

“They need someone like you. Someone who can keep them together. Focused.”

“Yeah, not really my thing. I’m more of a lone wolf.”

Bruce snorted. “Clint, you’ve become better than any of us. You don’t let the dark absorb you. You do what needs to be done, no matter what your orders say. I should have helped you more when you were younger, give you a better aim for your skills—”

“Bruce.” Clint held up a hand to stop the apology. “You helped me when I needed it. I will always be thankful to you for that. But I made my choices, and I take responsibility for the good things I do, as well as the bad. Nothing you could have done would have changed my mind back then, and we both know that.”

Nodding, Bruce took a drink of his ginger ale. “You were stubborn back then.”

Clint laughed. “I still am. It’s one of my defining features.”

“So I heard.” Bruce smiled. “Alfred would have loved Bobbi.”

Clint smiled at that. “She would have loved him. Probably asked him for fight tips as well as cooking advice.”

“Did she know, before Paris?”

It was Clint’s turn to nod. “She did. I mean, if I didn’t, she’d have questions when learning what my full, legal name is.”

“But about the other side?”

“I never lied to my wife about who I am or where I came from.” Clint shrugged. “But some things don’t need to be known until it comes up.”

“Good.” Bruce looked at the picture again, then pushed it across to Clint. It was a shot of part of the Batfamily in the cave with Alfred in the chair and the others around him. Well, almost everyone—Jason was missing.

“Is there a reason Jason isn’t in this?”

“You need to ask Jason that.” Bruce got up and headed to the bar.

Clint stood up to follow him. “No, I’m asking you. Missing something like this would be a two-person problem, and I know Jason loved Alfred a lot.”

“Clint…”

“Not only that,” Clint continued without pausing, “but you let your own kid carry the guilt of Alfred’s death and didn’t go and try to comfort him. Hell, you drove Ric away from Gotham when he should be at home with his family.”

Bruce slammed his glass down on the bar. “That’s enough.”

“No, I’m just beginning.” Clint kept his voice calm even as he felt the adrenaline started coursing through his body. “But you already know all this. But you keep pushing people away who want to help you—who need you. Damian, Tim, Jason, and especially Ric need you to stop being Batman for five seconds and be their father. I don’t know what the others said while I was outside, but I’m deaf and I could hear the pain they’re all in.”

Bruce turned and opened his mouth, but Clint didn’t stop. “Don’t even try to explain how they’ll figure it out—of course they will. But what part do you plan on playing in helping them? How many kids do you have to throw out of the nest before you learn that aren’t really birds? Will you figure it out before Damian turns on you like Jason did, or he leaves and doesn’t speak to you for years like Dick and I did?”

“Are you done?” There was no heat in Bruce’s voice. Clint took a moment to look at him and realized that Bruce was slumped forward, his shoulders hanging in defeat. For a moment, Clint felt regret at how he handled this, but he wouldn’t take a single word back.

"Nope." He jumped over the bar and refilled Bruce’s glass, then poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “You know, when I was bedridden, I’d get frustrated not seeing you or Dick for days. At those times, Alfred always told me something.”

_Eleven years ago…_

Alfred sat in a recliner next to the fire in Clint’s room, a book opened in his lap. He was reading _Oliver Twist_ aloud as Clint lay in bed, still encrusted in plaster.

“Oliver should get out while he can,” Clint stated after the scene where Fagan welcomed Oliver into the group. “Once he’s no use to them, they’ll just throw him under the bus.”

Alfred closed the book. “I assure you, Master Clint, this story does have a satisfying ending.”

“There’s no such thing as a satisfying ending.” Clint picked at his blanket with his one good hand. “There’s just pain… or faking it to avoid getting hurt. No one really cares about kids like us.”

“Now that is just rubbish. Master Bruce cares for you very much.”

“If he cared, he’d be the one in here keeping me company at night.” It was still weeks before Clint would learn the truth of why Bruce wasn’t there, so Clint believed he was the reason. “He’s just doing this because Dick asked. I’m just a burden to him.”

Alfred stood up, leaving the book in the chair before standing beside the bed. “Master Clint, I know things seem odd with the daily schedules Masters Bruce and Dick keep, but I know they do not see you as a burden.”

Clint took a shaky breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I thought he’d be different. I let myself think maybe here, after seeing how close he and Dick are, that just maybe I’d find out what it was like having a real father. But like always, I’m just alone and in pain, and he doesn’t care.”

“Nonsense. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have adopted you,” Alfred stated, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He would have just set up a fund to see to your care and found you a guardian to watch over you. Instead, he brought you across half the country and hired the best specialists he could find to give you a second chance at a good life.”

“Yeah. Great PR stunt.”

“He didn’t do it for that. He did it because he sees something in you. Master Bruce may not know how to be the kind of father you dream of, yet he tries to give Master Dick, and now you, the life he wished he could have had with his own parents. He’s had no one show him how to do this, so he does make mistakes, but that’s how you learn—trial and error. The mistakes he made with Dick will not be repeated with you. You just need to make sure you let him know when he makes those mistakes, so he can learn.”

Clint looked up at Alfred and wasn’t surprised to feel the tears escape from his eyes. Alfred smiled and pulled out a handkerchief before drying each side of his face. “Do you think he’ll listen?”

_Now…_

“…Master Bruce will always be there for you, in good times and in bad. You just have to have faith in him, and patience for him to learn the best way to help.”

Clint hugged his coffee cup, having somehow downed half of it while talking. Bruce’s head was tilted to listen to Clint’s words with a sad smile.

“So, what do you think he’d say now?” Bruce asked.

“Honestly? I think he’d tell you to get off your bloody ass and take care of your boys because they are your legacy, not the Batman.” Clint finished his drink and put it in the sink. “Ask Tim to help you. Help Damian understand that he isn’t to blame for all this. Make Jason know that he is a part of the family by involving him in things not related to crime fighting. And make amends with Ric, who is a good man even if he’s not Dick. Bring your boys home to be a family again.”

“And what about you?” Bruce asked, watching Clint walk around the bar. “What can I do to bring you home.”

Clint snorted, then looked at Bruce with a smirk. “Actually make the manor a home worth coming back to, and not a creepy museum of your parents and lost childhood.”

Bruce blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Is that how you always saw it?”

“Pretty much. Everything but the garden.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Bruce held out his hand, and Clint clasped it.

“Good, and make sure my stuff stays in my room so I can see it when I come visit.”

Ric was waiting against the motorcycles as Clint exited. He could tell something good happened between them as the stiffness in Clint’s upper body had loosened. Ric held up the untouched coffee in his right hand, which Clint eagerly grabbed.

“Everything good?” Ric asked.

Clint nodded as he took a long drink. “Mostly, yeah.”

When he lowered the cup, Ric noticed concern in his friend’s eyes. “What’s up?”

“Ric, you remember I told you about how I came to live with you and Bruce when I was sixteen to recover from an accident?”

“Yeah.”

Clint fiddled with the coffee sleeve on his cup. “I left something out of the story.”

Ric narrowed his eyes. Clint never lied to him—that he knew—but he had a sense that this missing piece was something big. “Which was…?”

“I’m more than just your friend,” Clint said slowly. “Bruce adopted me. So legally, we're brothers.”

It took a minute for Ric to take that in, but he nodded. “I know we always talked about how we’re like brothers back in the circus, but somehow, I think I knew that this whole time.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “You remember it?”

Ric shook his head. “No, it’s more like a feeling. I knew it’s true the moment you said it. It just… felt right.”

“Well, I’m going to take that as a good sign that you’re not only remembering things, or at least feelings, but that I’m unforgettable in being your sibling.”

“Yeah, don’t push it too far.” Ric finished his coffee and tossed it into the trash can before straddling his motorcycle. “Still got a long way to go before I figure this out.”

Clint’s cup joined Ric’s as he too saddled up. “Yeah, well just be patient. Family’s always there for you when you need them. All you have to do is ask.”

They started up their motorcycles and put their helmets on. As they kicked off, Ric asked, “So does Jason know that you guys are brothers?”

“Not yet,” Clint sighed.

Ric laughed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see how that’s going to turn out.” He heard Clint swear as they drove off, knowing that Clint would chase him all the way back to Blüdhaven for that. And somewhere deep inside, Ric knew Alfred was looking down upon them and smiling.

 _Thanks, Alfred_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another story is done! Next up: Ric and Clint deal with the Court of Owls! 
> 
> There will be major comic **SPOILERS** in here as this is the first half of DC's plot reveal on what actually happened when Dick was shot in the head (Batman #55 / Nightwing #50), and while I have a Clint, Jason, & Nat story planned between CoO and Joker War, it will all be connected and the dynamics in the Batfamily will change and make a major departure from the current DC continuity once these three are done.
> 
> So buckle up, CircusBros fans because there's a lot of feels coming at you...


End file.
